


Can't Play Boyfriends Forever

by patroclilles



Series: Words at the Frat House [3]
Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Fake/Pretend Relationship, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-31
Updated: 2014-10-31
Packaged: 2018-02-21 08:59:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,606
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2462420
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/patroclilles/pseuds/patroclilles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The party is ending and so is the night, and while Ian and Mickey are glad that the former is wrapping up, they kind of wish the night would last forever.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Can't Play Boyfriends Forever

**Author's Note:**

> Kind of reeling because I just finished writing a really tough angsty chapter in a style that I'm not at all used to earlier today so I'm really excited and I just wanna write about happy Ian and Mickey? Celebrating writing with more writing; wouldn't have it any other way tbh.
> 
> So yeah, here is the last part of Frat House! It was so much fun, I'm so happy y'all convinced me to stretch out this 'verse past Hold My Hand. I can't get enough of my happy boys. :)
> 
> Enjoy!

“Mickey.”

The brunette wanders ahead, unperturbed, smoking from the joint in his hand.

“Mickey.”

Mickey hums lazily, but doesn’t turn around.

“Mickey!” Ian struts right up to Mickey’s heels, grabs the stubborn ruffian by the waist and turns him around swiftly. Their lower bodies are pressed firmly against each other, but Mickey pulls his head away to inhale from the joint once more.

When Mickey looks back to the boy holding him, Ian is at a loss for words. He kind of forgets that he was annoyed at Mickey in the first place for ignoring him as they walked in the woods beyond the frat house.

The brunette’s face splits into a wild smirk, like being held by Ian in this way is making him bounce off the walls, or rather, swing from the trees. And the annoyance Ian felt before becomes trivial as it’s replaced with an overwhelming warmth, a warmth that he wants to hold onto for the rest of the night, so he tightens his grip on Mickey’s waist in turn.

“Can I help you?” Mickey quips, and his hips, as if working from their own cognition, grind softly against Ian’s.

“I just wanna know if you were ever thinking about passing the weed,” he drawls out the last syllable drunkenly, biting his bottom lip to fight back diving in and attacking Mickey’s mouth. If all the shots they downed at the makeshift frat house bar didn’t set their levels spiking before, that last round of beer pong in the backyard sure did.

But disinhibition is a good look on both of them, they’d both soon decide.

“What, this guy right here?” Mickey waves the joint in front of Ian’s face with the hand that isn’t holding on to Ian’s arm, and now Mickey’s biting  _his_ lip to distract himself from how taught and muscled Ian’s biceps are.

“Yeah,” Ian mocks, squinting his eyes in vexation, “that guy right there.”

Mickey chuckles and brings the joint to his lips once more. He takes a hit and, with a gentle gesture of his fingers, beckons Ian closer.

Ian’s eyes widen because, shit, is Mickey asking to shotgun? Is Mickey really, for the second time tonight, initiating this moment between them? He leans in before he can really finish asking himself the questions, too excited to find out the answers for himself.

Ian feels the same wobbly feeling in his legs as he did when they kissed for the first time earlier that night. Only this time, they were alone, and Ian could _really_ pay attention to how Mickey tightened his grip on Ian’s arm the closer they got, how his hand travels up and settled on Ian’s neck, massaging gently.

Only, they don’t kiss. And they don’t shotgun either.

Mickey blows a thick cloud of smoke into Ian’s face when they’re only a few inches apart, and the way Ian recoils at the smell and the way it stings his eyes has Mickey doubled over laughing.

“Mick, what the fuck?!” Ian yells, with an edge of amusement because, really, Mickey could be such a child sometimes. He rubs at his eyes with fervor.

“Aww, sorry, I had to,” Mickey purrs, throwing his hands up like he’s not at fault here, despite the chuckles coming out of his delighted face.

“Hey, hey,” Mickey says softly, the giggles almost subsiding completing, as he approaches Ian with caution, “stop rubbing at your eyes, it’ll pass faster if you stop.” He shoves Ian’s hands from his face and wipes away the tears with his thumb.

“I fucking hate you, I hope you know that,” Ian scowls, and Mickey laughs again. He still hasn’t moved his hand from Ian’s cheek.

“What you really think I’d hand this over?” He lifts his other hand, where the joint burns, almost finished. “You didn’t throw down shit.”

“I thought we were boyfriends here?” Ian coos as he grabs the hand that rests on his face. He turns so that his lips press against Mickey’s palm with a moist, lasting kiss that makes Mickey shiver all over.

It was such a small moment, but it was enough to remind Mickey that he doesn’t do this shit. This chaste flirtation, these girlish talks about past lives in gay clubs, the fucking _dancing_ with people of the same fucking sex who you’ve met that same night.

He’s overwhelmed with an anger he can’t fucking explain.

Mickey scoffs and retreats his hands. He doesn’t even want to withdraw himself, which confounds him _more_. He wants to backpedal, put his hand back on Ian’s burning skin, but instead he keeps spiraling before he knows what words are spewing out of his mouth next.

“Can’t play boyfriends forever, Gallagher.”

Silence befalls them and everything slows down, the change in atmosphere becoming unbearably palpable. Mickey feels scared and nervous.

Ian doesn’t look particularly hurt at the words, though. He just stares at the skittish brunette before him for a few moments, before a small sneer plays at his lips.

“I want to believe you, Mick, really,” Ian whispers smoothly, walking closer so that Mickey has to walk backwards, jittery and unable to bring himself to defend himself from Ian’s new advances.

He’s not even sure he wants to.

“But I have a feeling you’ve had fun playing boyfriends with me tonight,” Ian continues. By now, Ian’s backed Mickey up against a tree trunk, and the joint in his hand had begun to smoke itself, burning down to the filter, making Mickey hiss and drop it in response to the heat. But now he has another kind of heat to worry about.

Ian places both hands on the tree, caging Mickey in, leaving him no quarter for escape. He’s staring at his everything square in the face: his fears, his wants, and for once, he’s not running away.

“I have a feeling,” Ian husks out, bringing his thigh to rub against Mickey’s groin, making the brunette whimper and bite his lip, which only brings Ian’s gaze down to Mickey’s bruising, inviting mouth. Wrong move, Mickey. Honestly, the worst. Ian dips his head so that their noses touch, and Mickey closes his eyes at their closeness, trying to remind himself he’s in control of his body here, despite how close he feels like he’s about to shit butterflies. Ian finally finishes with, “you wouldn’t mind keeping up the facade for a little while longer...”

Even if it is forever.”

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Mickey hisses, overwhelmed and eyes still tightly shut, before he can stop himself, and that’s how Ian knows he’s wormed his way inside.

Mickey opens his eyes, just slightly, to find that the only thing he can really focus on are Ian’s lips. His jaw slackens, mouth waters, and he doesn’t know how long he stands there, pressed against a tree, just mesmerized in this taller man’s mouth. He feels like a little while longer and he might just have memorized each and every crack and groove on Ian’s lips.

A little while longer is all it takes for Mickey to finally close the distance between them, both moaning at the contact like all the pressure from their lives is being released right that moment, like a wine cork finally being popped right off it’s bottle. Their mouths feel like fire, overflowing with heat and desire.

Mickey’s panting by the time Ian gets his pants down to his knees. Fuck, when did Ian get his pants down to his knees? He only brings himself to notice when Ian’s hands are on his dick, stroking as he bites and sucks hickeys onto Mickey’s neck. Mickey at last opens his eyes to take in his surroundings, feeling like he’s in some fantasy land like Narnia or some shit, because the air is cool, the night is beautiful, the trees are whistling, and there’s the hottest fucker stroking his dick and sucking on his neck like he was made to. When the fuck did he get here?

Mickey’s hands fumble to find Ian’s neck, guiding him back to his mouth so he can kiss him through his orgasm, knees trembling by the end of it. He mewls into Ian’s mouth one last time, before Ian pulls away with a bite to Mickey’s lower lip.

Ian stands proudly, sucking on his palm and fingers to clean himself of Mickey’s spunk. Ian’s smirk is fucking fatal, Mickey decides then.

Ian only stares at the brunette as he does so, taking in the flush that slowly recedes from his neck, and the heavy breathing that slows down by the minute. Mickey’s abashment will be the death of him, Ian decides then.

When Mickey gathers enough of his wits, he brings himself to smile, shyly at that, before searching his coat pockets for another joint. He lights it, takes a hit, then passes it to Ian, who takes it without question.

“You want to go back?” Ian asks in between pulls, like he didn’t just pull Mickey apart a few minutes earlier.

“Yeah, sure,” Mickey hears himself say as he looks down, zipping up his pants.

He looks back up to Ian before deciding that it wouldn’t kill him if he kept this little facade they’ve got going on for a little bit longer.

“But can we just...chill, uh, here for a bit?”

Ian smiles, settling himself down against the tree, using his jacket as a blanket and Mickey settles in beside him. The night remains quiet, save for the crackling of the burning joint and their soft talking.

Yeah, they’ll keep the facade going for a little while longer...even if it is forever.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! 
> 
> -[r](http://halseystr.tumblr.com)


End file.
